


The Tiniest Cave

by jenny_of_oldstones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Casual Sex, Hook-Up, M/M, Side Quests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-27 20:32:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16709548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_of_oldstones/pseuds/jenny_of_oldstones
Summary: A tiny cave in the Emerald Graves commands the Inquisitor to do its bidding.The Inquisitor says "okay."





	The Tiniest Cave

 

“Why are we doing this?” asked Dorian.

Cadash was jumping up and down on what appeared to be a tiny cave.

“Creepy voices are creepy.” Sera leaned on Bull’s back. Bull was seated cross-legged on the ground, sliding a whetstone over his axe.

“All the more reason to ignore them.” Dorian swatted angrily at a hornet circling his head. “Or, you can do what the Inquisitor is doing. What was it again? You heard a voice coming out of a tiny cave, and you thought you should jump up and down on it to make it speak again? Was that the entirely reasonable and sane premonition you had?”

Sweat had formed on Cadash's forehead. His brows had taken on that stubborn angle they got when no force on heaven or earth was going to steer him off his path.

“Think it might be a demon?” asked Bull.

“More likely some ancient elven curse,” said Dorian.

“Staying in this culvert is a bad idea," said Bull. "Any Red Templars sneak up on us here, and we’re cooked.”

“Then,” grunted Cadash, “go,” grunt, “stand watch.”

“You’re the boss.” Bull got to his feet. Sera slid off him. The two of them ambled away through the tall grass, leaving Dorian alone with this folly.

Dorian watched the Inquisitor jump and down. He wondered why the group hadn’t protested more to this little diversion. Maybe they were so indoctrinated by the Inquisition’s cult of personality that they assumed that Cadash, in his infinite wisdom, could do no wrong.  

More likely, they knew better than to try to reason with Cadash once he got an idea in his head.

It was an obnoxious trait. Josephine and Cullen found him impossible to work with. Leliana had better luck, though even she found Cadash’s flights of fancy incomprehensible. The dwarven Inquisitor had proven himself determined to chase every quest that dropped into his lap, even if it meant answering every bystander, passerby, and random civilian's beck and call. No task was too small, too menial, for the most powerful man in Thedas to waste time on.

Hence this.

“I am so glad I came to the south,” said Dorian. “When I return home, I’ll recall this moment, watching you hop up and down like a bunny, while refugees were eaten by dragons and ripped apart by giants.”

“Can you….” Cadash panted. “Can you help me count?”

“I'm afraid the sun's in my eyes, sorry.”

Cadash opened his mouth to speak, when a voice clear as music floated out of the tiny cave.

_“Need more! More. Have to be ready.”_

Well, what do you know. The voice was real. 

Cadash put his hands on his knees and wheezed. “Crystal grace.”

“What?” said Dorian.

“Crystal grace. We have to go to the Hinterlands and gather ten crystal grace.”

“How did—how could you possibly get that interpretation?”

“It’s just a feeling.” Cadash hopped off the tiny cave and picked up his hammer.

“And you’re actually going to listen to it?” Dorian was flabberghasted. “You don’t even know what that thing is. For you all you know, it could be a revenant trying to draw you into a trap.”

“Nah. Got a good feeling.”

“A good—!” Dorian threw his hands up. What was the point. Days of riding out to the Graves, and now they were getting back in the saddle to ride to the Hinterlands, hundreds of miles west, to pick flowers. Of course, they were.

“Buck up.” Cadash slicked his hair back and twisted his homely, tattooed face into a grin. “Think of it as an adventure.”

 

* * *

 

The Hinterlands was just as dreary, muddy, and dog-ridden as Dorian remembered. The four of them made quick work of the few bandits in the area, and spent the rest of their time picking crystal grace.

“I mean, maybe he’s batshit crazy,” said Sera one afternoon, on her hands and knees in a flower patch. “That would make sense, right?”

“He’s sitting right there," said Bull.

“Shut it, not talking to you,” said Sera. She tore up a weed and chucked it into a nearby stream. “I mean, I hear a voice in a tiny cave, I blow up the tiny cave. I hear a voice tell me to go pick ten who-gives-a-shit, I ask it if it's going to tip the velvet first.”

Dorian wiped his brow, ignoring that every part of his body itched from nettles. Maybe the Inquisitor was mad. Maybe the power and pressure of the Inquisition had driven him to delusion.

Cadash sat on a log nearby. He had taken off his duster, and was smoking one of his foul little cigarettes. With his shirt off, he was muscular and covered in thick, black hair. 

With a body like that, It's a shame he's insane, thought Dorian, and smothered the next thought in its crib.

 

* * *

 

Back at camp, Dorian sat his aching, ant-bitten body beside the camp fire and let a bowl of stew be forced into his hand. It tasted of watery broth and stringy carrots. He wished desperately for some meat.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Cadash straddled the log next to him. He’d left his duster off, and his white tunic was dark with sweat. The top laces of the tunic were open, and the damp chest hair beneath glistened.  

“I hope you’re happy.” Dorian snuffed. His sinuses were hard as rocks.

“I am,” said Cadash. “Crystal grace is a rare flower. It’s amazing that we found as many today as we did.”

Dorian supposed so. Bizarrely, every time they ran out of flowers to pick, Cadash had suggested they retreat to Redcliffe, saying the crystal grace might reappear in their absence. Sure enough, when they returned the crystal grace had grown back, often in the same place they had just picked it.

“I’m sure the tiny god in the tiny cave will be thrilled,” said Dorian. “Think of the reward.”

“I am.” Cadash’s eyes, which were a remarkable shade of blue, were slightly wry- enough so that Dorian couldn't tell if he was in on the absurdity of what they were doing or not. “If a quest is this hard, the reward has to stupendous.”

“That's how you think the world works?” said Dorian.

“Why wouldn't it?” Cadash put a hand on Dorian’s knee. “I know I’ve been asking a lot of you three, but trust me, this will all be worth it.”

The hand was heavy and rough. Cadash removed it.

“Anyway, we’ll be heading back to the Graves tomorrow,” he said. “So make sure to get your beauty sleep.”

 

* * *

 

That night, tossing and turning in his tent, Dorian thought about Cadash’s hand.

It had been a strong hand. Thickly calloused, used to swinging a hammer. It had been warm on his knee.

He wondered what would have happened if Cadash had placed it a few inches higher. 

Dorian sneezed. What in the world was he thinking? The man was a lunatic. Even if he was a lunatic with remarkable blue eyes.

Kicking the bundles of crystal grace bound up at his feet, Dorian rolled back over, and tried to dream of something less compromising.

 

* * *

 

The scouts were not terribly surprised when, mere weeks after he had left, the Inquisitor returned. The Inquisition troops were used to their leader dropping in and out all over Orlais at random, as if each excursion didn’t bleed resources and gold.

Back at the tiny cave, Cadash put the flowers down. Immediately, the tipsy little voice responded:

_“Pulling back the curtain. Let the light in. Let it burn.”_

They stood in a semi-circle around the cave. Nothing happened.

“Guess that’s done,” grumbled Bull.

“Finally.” Sera threw her arms up and fell back into clover. White butterflies dusted up around her, and Dorian swatted at them in annoyance.

Cadash, however, was rubbing his chin.

“I think it wants us to go to Emprise du Lion,” he said.

“How in the hell do you figure that?” said Bull.

“It’s just a—”

“Don’t say it’s a feeling.” Sera shook her head back and forth in the grass. “Don’t. Just shut up. Just shut it.”

She thundered her heels against the ground and covered her eyes with her hands. Bull similarly had a sour expression on his face.

“Look, boss, we’ve been chasing this lead for weeks. We've got rifts to seal, Red Templars to kill, and a lot of people to save. Whatever this is, it can wait until after the war.”

“Can it?” Cadash put his hands on his hips. “How do you know this won't lead us to an artifact that helps us win the war?”

“Because I don’t bet on a bad odds,” said Bull. "I may know shit about magic and disembodied voices, but I do know what results look like, and this ain’t them. We’ve got your back, but you can’t keep yanking us around like this.”

“I’m not yanking you.” Cadash sounded petulant. “I know this is going to pay off. I can feel it.”

And then, horrifically, he turned to Dorian.

“You believe me, don’t you?” he asked. “I’ve gotten us this far. You don’t honestly think I’d bring us all this way just on a lark?”

Dorian absolutely believed that Cadash would drag them all over creation on a lark. He believed Cadash would drag them all over creation for a sprig of elfroot, if need be.

He disliked that he suddenly lacked the courage to say it to Cadash’s face.

“Once we finish this quest,” said Dorian, “We’ll be back on track, yes?”

“Absolutely,” said Cadash.

“Well then,” said Dorian, and left it at that.

Bull glared at him. Sera made a noise like a dying bogfisher.

Cadash’s smile was heavy with gratitude.

 

* * *

 

That night, a shadow darkened the entrance to Dorian’s tent.

Dorian had been dozing. His head was dizzy with fever and the foul herbal medicine the camp medic had given him for his head cold. He eyed the shadow sardonically, wondering if it was an assassin.

It turned out be Cadash in his shirtsleeves. The dwarf crawled into the tent until he was beside Dorian on his bedroll.

“Hi,” said Cadash.

“Hello,” said Dorian. What in the world was he thinking. The deep neck of Cadash’s tunic yawned open before him, the musk of his chest thick in the air.

“I hope you don’t mind this,” said Cadash.

“Mind?” Dorian had been wishing a handsome man would crawl into his bedroll every day since he joined the Inquisition. That the universe had seen fit to send him an idiot, well, beggars can't be choosers. “Don’t be silly. Now get to work.”

“Aye,” growled Cadash, and did.

Within a few minutes, they were slick with sweat and wrapped around each other. Cadash’s body was strong and hard, and every bit as hairy as the furs they were lying on. He rutted his cock against Dorian’s with shameless enthusiasm, as if he was fucking into him instead of on top of him.

“Do you um, want to have me?” Dorian turned his head, delirious.  

Cadash licked his throat all over, leaving warm trails of saliva. “You sure you want to get filled up by a man who's 'batshit crazy?'”

Kaffas. “You’d hardly be the first,” Dorian said, and was flipped like a pancake onto his stomach.

It was a fair question, Dorian supposed, while he writhed on the furs. The blunt head of Cadash's cock was a wonderful burn. Was it a healthy to get involved with a man whose priorities could only be described as "fucked"? 

As obnoxious as these side-quests were, some of them actually had done good. They might not always be relevant, but if not for Cadash, who would put flowers on the grave of the wife of the old Dalish widower? If not for Cadash, who would return that Druffalo to the farm? If not for Cadash, who would collect every single stupid shard in southern Thedas?  

Sure, they were a devastating waste of time and resources, but in the face of overwhelming odds, maybe these tiny diversion were better for morale than a thousand won battles.  

Sweet maker, I'm as crazy as he is, thought Dorian.

“I think I’m beginning to understand how your mind works,” said Dorian.

“Good boy,” said Cadash, and reached down to give him a squeeze.

 

* * *

 

If it was difficult to meet the eyes of the camp soldiers the next day, It was even harder to deal with Cadash’s insufferable grin.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” said Dorian, throwing his saddle over his war nug.

“If you need a pillow, all you have to do is ask,” said Cadash.

“Enjoy your head cold,” said Dorian.

With that, they mounted up, and rode for the Emprise du Lion.

 

* * *

 

On their journey through the snowy Emprise, Bull and Sera thankfully refrained from commenting on the elephant in the room. It was too cold for teasing, and they rode each day in miserable silence.

The quarries had been cleared out months before. Cadash led them down narrow clefts in the stone, rubbing his chin and squinting.

Eventually, the rode down a long tunnel in the stone. At the end was a tiny culvert. Inside was a collapsed archway, where, curiously, a sconce of veil fire was burning.

“What do you know? Dead end,” grumbled Sera from under her blankets.

“It has to be here somewhere….” Cadash nudged his war nug up to the veilfire and lit a torch off it. Then, standing in the saddle, he eyed a wall of what seemed to be solid ice.

“Aha!” He leaped off the saddle. They watched him fall, about to collide with the wall—

Only for him to pass through it as if it was air. Cadash’s head poked out a moment later.

“See? What did I tell you?”

They followed in a sullen line through the ice. Behind it was a dark staircase that went down, and down, and down.

At the bottom was an enormous cavern. The floor was made of darkness, and the walls were of such nonsensical geometry that they hurt Dorian’s eyes to look at.

In the center of the chamber was a raised platform, and on it was a chest.

 _“This is it,”_ said a manic little voice, that came from everywhere and nowhere. _“This is it. Take it. Use it. I’m going. Laughing all the way.”_

“Well, that’s not ominous,” said Dorian.

Cadash got down on his knees. He rubbed his hands across the lid of the chest. “Everything we did, all that jumping, was for this." He glanced back at them, sheepishly. "I’m truly lucky to have friends as loyal as you.”

Patient was a better modifier, Dorian thought. But despite himself, he was excited. They all leaned in, peering over Cadash's shoulder, holding their breath.

Cadash opened the chest.

 

* * *

 

“So,” said Cullen.

The four of them sipped hot soup from clay mugs in the war room in Skyhold. Predictably, after weeks in the frigid Emprise du Lion, each one of them was sick.

“You went to the Emerald Graves to rout the Red Templars and destroy Samson’s lyrium supply line, and got distracted by a tiny cave.”

“Yeah,” said Bull.

“Then, at the expense of thousands of gold pieces, you went to the Hinterlands for three weeks, to pick flowers.”

“We did other things,” said Sera. “Got bear pelts, too.”

“Then,” said Cullen, “you went back to the Emerald Graves, left the flowers at the tiny cave, turned around, and went to Emprise du Lion.”

“Hm,” said Dorian.

“Where you finally found the reward the voice in the tiny cave promised you,” said Cullen. “And this was it?”

On the table was a flower crown.

“ _Why_?” asked Cullen.

No one had an answer. After a few seconds, the commander walked out.

“It does have a thread of lyrium running through it,” said Cadash, studying the flower crown. “There are some possible magical advantages to wearing it like a helmet-”

“Whelp, I’m out,” said Bull, and downed his mug.

“Same,” said Sera, and followed.

That left Cadash and Dorian together. Dorian, whose asshole had been mysteriously itchy since the Graves, considered walking out, too.

“I think you should have it,” said Cadash.

“You’re too kind,” said Dorian. “All the Red Templars trying to split my skull in two with battleaxes will be thrilled at this opportunity.”

“No, it's just...” Cadash chewed his lip. "I had a good time these past few weeks. You don’t know how much your support means to me.”

Dorian could think of a lot of things his support was worth, but didn’t voice it. It wasn’t as If he hadn’t enabled this little venture. It was partially his fault.

“Fine," he said. Let me see it."

Cadash handed him the crown. The flowers were enchanted, and very, very pink. 

Maybe this will be worth it, he thought, as he raised it over his head. Maybe it will grant me some extraodinary power. Maybe Cadash was right all along—

The crown bumped off his head. It was as if it had hit a wall before touching him. It fell to the floor, where it bounced and rolled under the war table.

“That’s disappointing,” said Cadash. “Looks like you’re not strong enough to wear it.”

“Sure. Why not,” said Dorian, and left to go find some anti-fungal cream.

Absolutely worth it.


End file.
